


You’ve stolen my treasure, now?

by procrastinationstation (specificlatentheat)



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: GIVE OUMA AND SHUUICHI THEIR U’S??????, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phantom Thief AU, SOMEONE PLEASE TEACH ME HOW TO DO THAT IOS SKIN IT’S THE COOLEST THING EVER AND WOULD LOOK EPIC, i am just trying to learn how to write action, kiibo as ann, miu as ryuji, not pregame personalities but maybe a healthy mix, ouma is protag/akira, persona 5 style, pls forgive me i haven’t thought too far ahead, shuuichi is a mix of akechi and sae
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 02:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17910050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/specificlatentheat/pseuds/procrastinationstation
Summary: Shuuichi Saihara followed his own code: don’t start fights you can’t win; always take the higher road; investigate without taking a personal interest.Shuuichi Saihara has broken all of his code because of Ouma Kokichi, and a little bit of healthy obsession.





	You’ve stolen my treasure, now?

“Joker, you’ve got to run!” A shrill voice came through his earpiece, making Joker wince. There was no need for shouting, just a couple guards running at his back, most likely with guns held out, nothing which prompted her raised voice, nothing at all. “Go up!”

“As opposed to?” Joker ask sarcastically under his breath, not intending for her to hear. In front of him lay grungy looking stairs, and no other paths to take.

“Does it matter? Go up, go up, go up! Hurry!” To keep going was his only option, so he flew up the stairs, taking two at a time, and for some reason he knew the guards following him wouldn’t shoot at his back, through the spine, and so probably kill him when he was making his escape.

That would be the smart thing to do, but that just doesn’t really happen in JRPG’s.

Instead, he ran up to the top floor and burst through the doors. He was on a balcony which circled the perimeter of the tacky room he was in. Compared to the drab, neglected state of the stairwell, and the rest of the building, this room was bright with golds, reds and purples.

“Right, so you’re in the main casino right now, if you couldn’t tell,” Joker scoffed, and his earpiece let out an indignant crackle. “Just sit tight, ok? We’re generating an escape route.”

“Isn’t it kind of your job to do that before we go in?” He asked rhetorically, leaning forwards over the balcony, jumping so his stomach was on the bar and his head was below his center of mass.

“We had a plan, and an escape route, before you cocked it all up!” The voice leered through, before a sharp noise, the signal cut off. He giggled that, making his body tip back and toes touch the floor.

He glanced towards the entrance of the casino, and made eye contact with one of the guards at the door. Shit. “Hey, can you make that generating thing go any faster?”

He pulled himself back from the balcony, ignoring the blood rushing back from his head. “No, why?” Annoyance seeped through her tone, and he peeked over the barrier to see the guard talking into his walkie-talkie, staring at the spot where he was.

“I think you’re going to have to.” He felt his heart begun to beat faster, and his fingers close into a fist- this was the part of a heist he enjoyed. Sneaking was fun, and earning money from treasures was great, but the thrill of the chase is what made it all worth it.

“What?... Just, just wait a moment...” came the confused response, but soon after came a beep from his watch. “Don’t do anything stupid, just follow the route I sent.”

“Boring!” He muttered, it was a straight shot to the exit. He just had to run down the balcony till the end and... jump through a stained-glass window?

“What the hell sort of generating is this, do you think I’m made of steel or what? How do you suppose I’m going to get through a window? Unless I have a secret supersuit or some shit, I’m gonna actually die!” Debating his chances, he wondered if he would fare better with dozens of security guards, or glass from a window in painful places. He at least had a chance against the security guards, if a glass shard hit his eye, it would be goodbye eye for him! Or somewhere else. Somewhere else would be incredibly painful as well.

“This is the best option you have! You would be apprehended any other exit, but they wouldn’t expect the window,” she argued, and Joker had to agree with that because he hadn’t expected it either. 

Didn’t mean it was a good idea, though. 

During this inner conflict, guards had arrived at the door, and filled out onto the balcony around him. His body made the choice for him, and he bolted towards the balcony, climbed up onto the edge and leapt for the chandelier. Nobody could get him there. “What the hell are you doing?”

He didn’t exactly know. People had stoppped playing on the slot machines, not a single click of a button could be heard, just gasps and screeches. It was like a bad movie, or one of those sad ‘funny injuries’ clips, where a cat would jump from object to object, looking terrified of the water beneath.

Except this water wasn’t water, but either a shiny, gold painted metal machine, or a slightly softer red carpet, which would probably mask the blood from his fall, at least slightly. “Ouma just jump out the bloody window!” Screeched the voice, “you won’t die, and probably won’t even get injured! You’re the main character, it doesn’t work like that!”

‘What the fuck,’ Joker- no, Ouma thought, as he leapt to the jewelled chandelier in front of him. He was right in front of the glass window, facing a translucent depiction of a woman praying. He sent up a quick prayer, too.

Something like: ‘God save the Queen, if nothing else, but if you can, please save me. I might not deserve much, but I don’t think I deserve a death this young.’

He then turned back to the guards behind him, and wondered if there was any way back into the door. They had filled the balcony, and there was no way he could even imagine getting back through them, there was just too many of them. The only way out was now the window.

So he swung back and forth of the chandelier, building up momentum and he held on to the cables for dear life. “Thank God I’m not a fatass, or I definitely would have splat by now,” he muttered under his breath. He couldn’t put it off any longer. 

“Shut up and jump!” So he did. A step forward, then a leap off and he was travelling through the air, covering his face with his forearms, even though he was wearing a mask. He smashed through the head of the praying woman, and for a second wondered whether she was actually weeping. 

The people on the ground looked up in awe at the boy in a cape flying towards the window with poise, and a fake confidence. From down there, he looked downright majestic, the coloured glass shards scattering around him as he passed through. 

He rolled on impact with the ground, and just as she said, there was no damage. Except the damage to his retina, because there was a bright white light glaring at him, reminiscent of a spotlight. When he blinked a couple times, he saw a crowd around the front of the building- a crowd of police cars. 

All he could hear from the other side of the earpiece was hyperventilating, a panic-stricken plea, “please don’t tell me that’s what I think it is, please, please...”

“LEADER OF THE PHANTOM THIEVES, SURRENDER YOURSELF- YOU HAVE NOWHERE TO RUN.” A voice blared out of the speaker of a cop car, and Ouma felt his heat quicken and sink at the same time. 

Fight or flight. Flight, always. So he turned tail and ran, jumping up to scale the side of a building, which was basically impossible. He grasped up to a window ledge, and tried to pull himself up to the first floor, where a person-sized window already opened. He’d be back in the building, but at least in relative safety compared to. 

Out peered an twisted face, eyes twinkling bemusedly, and the monster reached his foot out and stood on Ouma’s hands. He twisted his foot, snapping something in his right hand, and Ouma fell. This time not gracefully at all, and he only just managed to protect his injured hand in his chest, as he fell face first into the ground. 

“Fuckshitballs! Ouma! Are you there? Can you- Ouma, I’m so sorry- what can I do?” Cutting herself off multiple times, the voice scrambled to find the right thing to say, “I can’t- I’m sorry.” And the line went silent, the sharp buzzing signaling the end of the conversation.

He lay there, and everything was still for a second. Then he heard footsteps, and felt a pressure pulling him to face the sky. He rolled onto his back with a cough, face full of dirt, and looked into eyes he recognised. Saihara Shuuichi. 

Ouma looked almost innocent, with his hand clutched in the other on his chest. If he had a rose between them, maybe he’d be the picture of peace, serenity. Saihara knew better. “I want to say this was a surprise, but somehow... it wasn’t.” He smiled cynically, looking similar to, but not the same detective Ouma knew.

“But from all people, to be you? The mastermind of everything?” His clouded eyes blinked slowly, relishing the moment where he had finally found the one he’d been searching for. “I wish you would have listened to me, when I told you to stop, when I told everyone to stop.”

“Wouldn’t you have kept looking?” Ouma could remember a million moments that could have been interpreted as a warning sign, a signal that they should stop, go home, and give up on their justice. He didn’t regret not listening to them, or him. 

“This could have been avoided,” he muttered, ignoring the question, “at least one of you could tell what the right thing to do was.” He smiled slightly, astonishing Ouma with how evil he looked in that one moment. 

Ouma could jump to his feet, maybe try and fight his way out of here. But the taste of betrayal was acidic in his throat, and Ouma spat to the side. Because, well, betrayal doesn’t come from your enemies. 

“I know you won’t believe me- I never believed in you or your false justice, but I am sorry it ended like this,” Saihara showed a quiet sort of confidence in his remorse. He put handcuffs around Ouma’s wrists and stood up. 

”I’m... sorry too,” Kokichi sat upright, handcuffs too right around his wrists, and brought tears to his eyes, “they’re too tight.” Almost like a petulant child, he held his hands out expectantly, for Saihara to loosen.

Saihara sighed, and learnt down to loosen them, and as he undid them a bit, Ouma tried to slip his hands out, and brought a leg up to push himself up off. His plans were halted when Saihara’s hand flipped to grab his wrist on reflex. “You’re not sorry, even if our whole relationship was a lie?” His voice sounded pained, and conveyed more than a little bit of heartbreak.

Ouma’s eyes widened and he looked around at the monsters surrounding him. They looked on with uncaring eyes, red and monsterous. He turned back to look at Saihara, speechless at his show of weakness. He might have opened his mouth to speak, if Saihara hadn’t spoken first.

“You might have manipulated me, for a while, but in the end, I was one step ahead. You were a challenge, but now I think I’ve finally earnt this title.” Saihara Shuuchi looked like a giant from this angle- different to the young boy, full of self-doubt and dreams, that Ouma had met a year earlier. This Saihara Shuuichi was truly the Ultimate Detective.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! hope you can leave a comment, constructive criticism is encouraged as long as it’s not too mean, because i cry incredibly easily lol. please start a convo, i love talking about shared interests and what people think i could do differently especially with a story like this! have a brilliant day :)


End file.
